


Convergence

by Original_Ginge



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-24
Updated: 2012-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-30 02:02:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Original_Ginge/pseuds/Original_Ginge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did Tintin come to be living at Marlinspike Hall, anyway?  </p><p>Takes place somewhere between ‘Red Rackham’s Treasure’ and ‘Destination Moon’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Convergence

**Author's Note:**

> ‘The Adventures of Tintin’ is a registered trademark, and the property of Herge/Moulinsart S.A. I do not own the characters and I am making no money from this fanwork.

The Captain looked over the café’s patio, eyes drifting from face to nameless face. He was sure the boy had said this café, but there were so many - ah, there he was; and he already had two cups and a cafetiere. He was face-down in a newspaper, pensively tapping a pen against his lips. The Captain smiled: well now, if that didn’t epitomise him. He glanced up as the shadow of leaves fell on his face. The ground was still damp from the April rains, but the sun bore down to dry it and wake the birds.  
     Tintin looked up as the Captain approached the bistro table, putting down the newspaper and standing with a smile on his face.  
     “Hallo, Captain. Are you well?” He extended a hand, which the Captain shook meaningfully. Snowy stood and barked at Tintin’s feet, wagging his tail.  
     “Not bad, not bad. And yourself? Hello there, Snowy.” The Captain rubbed Snowy’s chin.  
      “I’m well. Please, take a seat, Captain.” Tintin indicated the chair opposite him, and the Captain sat with a sigh, hand already in his pockets for his pipe and tobacco. Tintin poured the Captain a coffee and topped up his own. Snowy settled again at his feet, his muzzle resting on his master’s foot.  
     “I’d be better if not for this mess in – now, where is it?” The Captain indicated the paper with his pipe. “Somewhere in South America…” Tintin’s confusion lifted.  
      “Ah, San Theodoros?”  
      “Yes! Can’t they just settle down over there? I can’t keep up.” The captain shook out the match in his hand, his pipe starting to smoke. Tintin folded the paper and put it to one side on the table.  
      “I confess, I know General Alcazar. I had a very interesting time with him when he last performed a coup d’etat. He saved my life. I was worried he hadn’t made it through the last power transfer, so I’m at least pleased to have had word of him.”  
      “Oh, that’s right. I knew I remembered the name. He made you his aide-de-camp.”  
      “You read my work, Captain?” Tintin smiled into his cup; he was hardly hiding a blush, but he was clearly pleased.  
      “It makes sense, doesn’t it? I like to keep myself abreast of things.” The Captain grinned and Tintin nodded; the little reporter’s instincts were evidently the same. The Captain lifted his coffee and glanced at the newspaper, open to the lettings page. Several of the small textboxes had been circled.  
      “Hello, are you moving?” The Captain nodded towards the newspaper.  
      “Oh! Well, yes.” Tintin straightened in his chair and the Captain followed suit.  
      “Not far, I hope?”  
      “No, no, I hope not.”  
      “Aren’t you happy in that little flat anymore? Want to move to something bigger? It makes sense; it’s very small. And you have the money now to buy something of your own.” The Captain relaxed back into his chair as he sipped. Tintin smiled appraisingly at the captain’s words.  
      “No, I’m happy there. And I’m away too frequently to bother with the upkeep involved in a property of my own. But it seems I am… a rather dangerous tenant.” Tintin squeezed one eye shut and scratched the side of his head. “Mrs Finch has been very good, really, but she has asked me to go.”  
      “Whatever for! I can’t imagine what you must have done!”  
      “Well, I don’t think it was me, per se. I think a ransacking, a drive-by shooting and a kidnapping all within days of one another were probably the final straw.” Tintin hailed a waiter, who attended the table with delicate grace, a towel folded over his arm.  
      “Could we please have two of your croissants and a selection of preserves – did you want anything else, Captain?”  
      “No, no, that’ll be fine.” The waiter inclined his head in acknowledgement and moved to another table.  
      “I see what you mean, though. How much notice has she given you?”  
      “Well, given the circumstances she’s really been very understanding. She’s given me appropriate notice, but said she won’t see me on the street if I can’t find anywhere.”  
      “You just can’t stay any longer than you have to.” The Captain puffed on his pipe, forehead furrowed.  
      “Indeed, Captain. And it looks as though my reputation precedes me; nobody wants a tenant so desired by the criminal underworld. I’ve been viewing apartments for two weeks, and I think I’ve rejected as many as I’ve been rejected for.”  
      “Well, that’s no good! You’ve got to have somewhere to lay your hat, lad.”  
      “I know.”  
      Their continuing catch-up hurried time between the man and the boy, and the waiter was soon at their side, two large croissants and a cradle of four preserves filling their little bistro table.  
      “How is it, living with the professor?”  
      “Oh, don’t ask. Doesn’t hear a thing you say to him, it’s like talking to a brick wall. Half the time he’s driving you mad, the other half he’s in his thundering laboratory.” The Captain slapped jam on a piece of croissant and chomped down hard on it, eyebrows meeting. Tintin’s hands were more genteel as they dealt with his breakfast, rubbing his fingers in his napkin to rid them of grease and crumbs.  
      “Has the government given him any more work?”  
      “He’s been given a contract for something or another. They offered him a weapons contract, but he rejected it.”  
      “Good for him. I can’t imagine the professor’s work being used for such ends.” Tintin lifted the coffee pot and raised his eyebrows to the captain, who shook his head and showed Tintin his palm.  
      “No, me either. And they wanted to put a man in at Marlinspike!”  
      “The government? To protect the professor?”  
      “Yes, those blistering coleoptera. I told them, I’ll let them know who’s living in my house, not the other way around, thundering typhoons!” The Captain sipped from his cup and brushed crumbs from his beard. “The place might be big enough for an army, but I-“ He sat back suddenly. His cup clinked as he set it on the saucer, making the teaspoon bounce. Tintin looked up, thumb to his mouth for the last of the raspberry jam.  
      “Are you all right, Captain?”  
      “Blistering barnacles, Tintin, we’re coming at this all wrong!” The Captain wore a grin on his face. Tintin inclined his head to invite the Captain’s explanation. “What with Nestor, that’s three men, rattling around in a house that size – I’ve room to spare. How do you feel about moving into Marlinspike Hall? You can have a room, and a study – anything you want, really, there’s room enough. There’s at least two en suites not being used. Three. Four? I can’t even remember. What do you think?”  
      Tintin had cradled his chin - elbow on the table - and narrowed his eyes. The Captain knew well enough what that expression meant.  
      “You know, Captain, that’s not a bad idea at all. Are you sure you’d be willing to have me? I warn you, I have a reputation for trouble.”  
      “Piffle! It’ll be nice to have some young blood around the place. That’s if you can put up with two old codgers. Three if you count Nestor.” The Captain brushed crumbs from his lap as Tintin rubbed his lip with a thumb thoughtfully.  
      “We’d have to discuss the rent-“  
      “Nonsense.”  
      “But Captain, I can’t expect to-“  
      “Let’s not discuss it now, at least.” The Captain gulped the last of his coffee. Tintin nodded, though he knew very well the Captain had a short memory for things he didn’t want to discuss. It was, Tintin thought, a terribly English thing. He smiled secretively.  
      “What do you think, Snowy? How would you like to live with the Captain and the Professor?” Tintin’s hand was firm and true on the furry white head at his feet, and Snowy wagged his tail sleepily.  
      _There’s whiskey there, and a cat to torment. Throw in a bone I’m yours._  
      Tintin got to his feet, his hand extended, palm tilted skyward.  
      “Thank you, Captain. I think it’s the perfect solution.” The Captain scrambled to his feet, clasping the little reporter’s hand in his own and shaking it.  
      “It’s a deal, then. When do you want to move in?”  
      “Well, how about this afternoon? Are you busy?”  
      “No, not a bit. You’re not doing anything?”  
      “Well, I was going to inspect a few more flats, but I won’t have to do that now.”  
      “In that case, shall we have another pot of coffee? It’s a nice morning, may as well take it slow.” The Captain sat down again, indicating for the waiter. Tintin nodded with a smile and pulled in his chair. Snowy had stood with his master, but as Tintin settled again he jumped up to his lap and sprawled in it, yawning.  
      _Since we’re staying, may as well make myself comfortable._


End file.
